Chapter 350: My Boyfriend’s Almost-Fiancée Is at My Door... Fantastic.

Lately, I was starting to think that living in a penthouse came with an unspoken rule: you had to form a complex relationship with boredom.

Sure, the place was stunning as hell, but none of that made going through lecture notes any more thrilling, and there I was, staring at the same paragraph for almost fifteen minutes without actually taking in a single word.

I had Damien to blame for this.

More specifically, I blamed him for leaving that morning looking hot as fuck in that charcoal suit, for kissing my forehead goodbye, and for reminding me to eat lunch as if I were some difficult houseplant needing regular care.

I had eaten lunch, by the way, mostly out of spite.

Now, with my notes sprawled across the coffee table and two empty mugs sitting beside them, I was mulling over whether to brew more coffee when the doorbell rang.

I shot a frown at the door.

Damien usually gave me a heads-up if someone was coming over, and Gabriel had his own delivery arrangements, so an unexpected guest could only mean a courier, a salesperson with questionable judgment, or someone willing to sacrifice my peaceful afternoon to the whims of social awkwardness.

I set my pen down and headed for the door.

When I opened it, I found out the universe had decided to skip the usual annoyances and jump straight to celebrity-level drama.

Isabella Sommers was standing there.

Holy hell...

I recognized her right away, not surprising since her face was everywhere, movie posters, magazine covers, billboards, and those pesky ads that popped up while I was trying to watch videos online.

She had striking ginger waves cascading over her shoulders, piercing blue eyes accentuated by impeccable makeup, and a complexion that made me think her skincare routine involved products pricier than my first semester’s textbooks.

She was decked out in a cream designer coat over a fitted dress, a handbag dangling from one arm, and heels that tapped against the floor every time she shifted.

Everything about her screamed polished and expensive, from her delicate jewelry to the furious disbelief etched across her flawless face.

For a moment, I just stared.

God, I was not prepared for this.

Then, my brain kicked in, reminding me that I needed to act like a grown-up instead of a bewildered guy who had unwittingly opened the door to a movie star.

"Uh...can I help you?"

Her eyes raked over my face, lingering on my loose T-shirt, bare feet and comfy pants, which I’d picked because nobody in their right mind wore anything constricting at home.

"I’m looking for Damien Lockwood."

Of course she was. I mean, why else would she be here?

"He’s not home right now." I responded.

Her expression shifted so fast I almost admired her performance.

Anger stayed, but confusion seeped in, followed by a sharper, more calculated look as she glanced past me into the penthouse.

"Then who are you?"

I fought the urge to look behind me, just in case another person had magically appeared while I was lost in thought.

"I’m Oliver."

"Oliver," she echoed, as if the name might give her some insight if she pronounced it with enough disdain. "And you are who exactly?"

I leaned against the doorframe. "I’m the guy who answered the door when you rang the bell."

Her blue eyes narrowed.

I smiled politely, because my dad taught me to have manners, even though he hadn’t covered what to do when a furious actress showed up at my door demanding to see my boyfriend.

I added. "I live here."

The silence that followed was something else.

Isabella looked me over, then past me, then back at me, as if she had just encountered a shocking plot twist that the screenwriter had conveniently left out.

"You live here?"

"Generally, that’s what people mean when they say they live somewhere."

"Don’t be clever with me."

"I’m not being clever. I’m just answering your questions, though I gotta admit, it’s been more entertaining than I expected."

Her mouth tightened, and for the first time, I saw why people might find her intimidating.

She was used to being noticed, catered to, and treated like someone whose displeasure could ruin an entire afternoon.

I bet she had assistants who anticipated her every wish and people who apologized when she bumped into furniture.

Unfortunately for her, I wasn’t furniture, and I had never been particularly good at feeling intimidated by beautiful people.

"How long have you been living here?" she pressed.

"Long enough to know where Damien keeps the good coffee."

Her gaze sharpened. "You expect me to believe that Damien Lockwood invited some random fucking guy to live in his penthouse?"

"No, I expect you to believe I’m answering your question."

"Do you even know who I am?"

I glanced at her hair and then her face, offering what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Yes. I’ve seen two of your movies, and you were fantastic in the second one by the way, I can’t remember the title though."

Her surprise was almost amusing. "You’re avoiding the question."

"Oh, I thought we were talking about your acting career."

"You’re living with Damien."

Finally, we hit the real issue beneath all that expensive makeup and managed anger.

"Yes," I said, my earlier amusement fading into something steadier. "I am."

"And you think that means something?"

I studied her for a moment, noting how she held herself stiffly, almost as if she was determined not to let a stranger see even a crack in her facade.

"I think it means I live here," I replied. "And that Damien wants me here."

Her expression hardened. "Men like Damien get bored quickly. Whatever this is, I doubt it will last."

Meh...I didn’t know about that.

I mean we both have had feelings for eachother for over four solid years.

That seemed a bit lasting to me.

I stood a little taller, keeping my voice calm even as my patience wore thin.

"You don’t know me, and you definitely don’t know what Damien and I have been through. I’m not going to argue with you about whether our relationship will last, because that’s not something you get to decide."

"How convenient for you."

"Not really. Loving Damien has been a pretty inconvenient experience, actually."

That seemed to surprise her, though I suspected she would’ve preferred me to start yelling so she could dismiss me as some unreasonable side chick or whatever who had stumbled into a world that wasn’t mine.

I understood more about her situation than she probably realized.

If her family had been telling her for months that she’d marry Damien, if she’d been led to imagine a future with him, then finding out he’d already chosen someone else must have felt humiliating.

Losing a guy who never wanted you is one thing; realizing everyone around you was discussing your future as if your feelings were a footnote is another.

I could sympathize without giving up my place beside him.

"If your family made promises about something Damien never agreed to, I get why you’re angry," I told her. "But I’m not going to apologize for being here, nor will I leave just because you thought he’d choose you."

For several seconds, Isabella was quiet. Her gaze remained on me, and I could almost see her searching for the right comeback, maybe realizing that the usual sharp retorts and offended looks weren’t landing as effectively as she’d hoped.

Finally, she lifted her chin. "Fine, whatever...I don’t give a shit. I’ll just wait until he gets home."

"All right."

She blinked. "All right?"

"Would you rather I argue with you? Because I can totally do that if you’re having a rough day and need the exercise."

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

I stepped aside and waved her into the living room. "Come on in. Want something to drink?"